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Pride swelled in Angelo’s chest, warm and fierce. This was not the frightened ghost who had hidden in the walls, watching the world through iron grates. This was a woman awakening to her own worth, claiming her place in the light. He hoped that his esteem had played some role in the gradual transformation. But the courage was all her own.

Isolde was beautiful, clever, and talented. She could play the organ like an angel and tend a garden like an artist. She knew the secrets of a Renaissance master and the hidden history of her ancient house. She deserved to be out in the world, sharing those gifts, living a life full of music and laughter and love.

And he would be beside her every step of the way.

“They will have to accept your beauty too,” he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Because you are beautiful, tesoro. Inside and out. And anyone who cannot see that is a fool.”

Color flooded her cheeks, but he could see she was pleased. A small smile curved her lips, and some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

Angelo knew there would be difficult days ahead. He was not naïve enough to believe that the world would welcome Isolde with open arms. There would be whispers and stares, thoughtless comments and cruel remarks. There would be days when she would come to bed with tears in her eyes and doubts in her heart. But he would be there on those days. To hold her, to remind her of her worth, to love her through her troubles while she found her way.

Today, however, was not about the future. Today was about the first step.

“My friends will be kind,” he assured her. “Gabriel and Henri are practiced in political and society circles. Nicholas is grumpy with everyone, so you should not take any surliness personally. And Lorenzo …” He paused, considering how to describe his intense, single-minded friend. “Lorenzo sees the world through an artist’s eyes. He will probably ask to sketch you.”

Isolde laughed, the sound surprised and slightly nervous and yet wholly genuine. “I have grown familiar with their quirks. They are quite a collection of characters.”

“They are.” Angelo grinned. “But they are also the best people I know outside of familia. And they are going to adore you.”

He offered her his arm, and after only the briefest hesitation, she took it.

They stepped out of the pantry together and found Mrs. Roskelly and Cook waiting for them in the kitchen, both women’s faces shining with tears.

“Oh, Miss Isolde.” Mrs. Roskelly pressed a handkerchief to her eyes, her voice thick with emotion. “Look at ye. Stepping out into the world at last. Yer father would be so proud. So very proud.”

“We both are,” Mrs. Rowe added, pulling out a handkerchief from her cooking apron to dab at her own cheeks. “Ye’ve been hiding too long, dearie. It’s time the world saw what we’ve always known. That ye’re the finest lady in all of Cornwall.”

Isolde’s composure wavered, tears springing to her eyes. “Thank you,” she managed. “Both of you. I could not have survived these years without your kindness.”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Roskelly bustled forward to straighten Isolde’s bodice, the gesture unconsciously maternal. “Ye survived because ye’re strong, Miss Isolde. Stronger than ye know. Now go on”—she shooed them toward the door—“yer guests are waiting. And Mr. Scott?” She fixed Angelo with a stern look that was somewhat undermined by the tears still glistening on her cheeks. “Ye take care of our girl, ye hear?”

“Sì, Mrs. Roskelly.” Angelo bowed his head solemnly. “With my life.”

The morning room was bright with winter sunlight when they arrived at the door. Angelo could hear the clink of cutlery and the murmur of conversation within, the sounds of breakfast in progress. He glanced at Isolde, saw her draw a fortifying breath, and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Ready?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, her jaw set with determination. “Ready.”

Angelo released her arm and stepped back, offering a slight bow to indicate that she should precede him through the doorway. It was a deliberate choice, a signal to those within that she was a lady of standing, worthy of respect and deference. Isolde seemed to understand, for she lifted her chin and swept through with a grace that would have done credit to any duchess.

The conversation died as she entered.

Gabriel, Henri, Lorenzo, and Nicholas were seated around the breakfast table, their plates laden with eggs and toast and Mrs. Roskelly’s excellent preserves. At Isolde’s entrance, they set down their forks and rose to their feet, their faces registering varying degrees of surprise at the sudden appearance of an unknown woman.

Angelo stepped in behind her, positioning himself at her shoulder like a guard … or a champion.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying clearly across the room. “I hope you will forgive the interruption to your breakfast, but I have the honor of presenting to you the lady of this house.” He turned to Isolde, pride coursing through him as he observed her dignified stance. “May I introduce Miss Isolde Fairfax?”

Etiquette demanded that he begin with the highest-ranking individuals in the room. He turned first to Gabriel, who had schooled his features into an expression of polite interest that betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“Miss Fairfax, may I present Lord Gabriel Strathmore, Viscount Trenwith.”

Gabriel executed a perfect bow. “Miss Fairfax. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I confess we had begun to wonder about the mysterious owner of this remarkable house.”

“The honor is mine, my lord.” Isolde’s curtsy was flawless. Evidence, Angelo supposed, of long hours of practice in her tower room, preparing for a day she had never truly believed would come. “I apologize for the unorthodox nature of our introduction. I am … not accustomed to receiving guests.”

“Think nothing of it.” Gabriel’s smile was warm and genuine. “We are grateful for your hospitality, however belatedly acknowledged.”